


Redemption of a Tyrant

by sir_red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism, Plot, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_red/pseuds/sir_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every so often i have the desire to write something which isn't porn...this is one of those times!</p><p>This is set during the events of A Song of Ice and Fire but will probably not feature any of the main or secondary characters...unless my desire to kill Frey's over-rides my better sense!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption of a Tyrant

Each morning Floras Florent awoke and cursed the gods. Each morning he prayed that the day would be his last on the earth. Floras Florent prayed that the drink would finally kill him and spare him the all encompassing shame which was his every waking moment. 

On that morning Floras awoke to a familiar feeling of a sore head and an upset belly. He felt as though his bowels would burst and his stomach would turn itself out in its bid to empty itself. 

Floras excused himself from his peculiar companion and fled to use the privy. When he returned he looked carefully once again the strange man who had become his only friend.

The man said his name was Selwyn. He claimed no second name, though his speech, his manner, his clothing and his weapons all suggested he was of noble birth. Most significantly Selwyn possessed the looks of old Valyria. Floras had never met a Targaryen. By the time he had reached manhood and taken off into the world the Targaryens had been all but gone. There were said to be some families in the Crown Lands that also had the look of Old Valyria yet Floras had never encountered any of them.

Still Selwyn’s pure white hair, his violet eyes and his ethereal, unearthly beauty all named him of Valyria as surely as Floras’ unfortunate ears named him a Florent. 

“I am still sick,” Floras said miserably, as he sat on the log beside Selwyn. 

“It will pass,” the Valyrian told him confidently. 

“You seem awfully certain of that fact,” Floras said, “yet you admit you have never had any training in healing.” 

“I know drunks,” Selwyn told him bluntly. 

Floras began to protest that he was not a drunk, yet a single look from Selwyn was enough to quell his tongue. 

“I know drunks,” Selwyn said more gently, “because I am one.” 

“I have not seen you take a drink in the three days I know you,” Floras accused. 

“No,” Selwyn agreed, “I have not had a drink in longer than you might think possible. Yet I am a drunk none-the-less.” 

“…there is a cure…?” Floras demanded, an unexpected and unfamiliar curdling of hope in his belly. 

“A cure?” Selwyn said thoughtfully, “no. But there is a way that you will not need to take another drink.” 

“How?” Floras asked, the familiar dark feeling returning to dwell in the back of his mind like an old friend. 

“Stay and I will show you,” Selwyn promised. 

The Valyrian stood and began to set about fixing breakfast. For the first time Floras found that he was actually hungry. The first two days he had not even been able to bare the smell of food. The thought of eating disgusted him almost as much as he disgusted himself. That was beginning to change. 

The Valyrian cooked a humble breakfast, though he cooked it surprisingly well for someone who Floras thought was a nobleman. The gruel was thick enough to probably be called porridge and the tea was black, rich and expensive. 

“Thank you for the breakfast,” Floras said after they had finished eating, “and your kindness.” 

“You’re welcome,” Selwyn replied, “your turn to do the dishes.” 

“I am a Florent of Brightwater Keep,” Floras told him amused, “I don’t wash dishes.” 

“You do now,” Selwyn told him simply. 

As Floras made his way to the river he was somewhat confused by this development. What sort of man could command him to do anything? Save perhaps his father. 

As Floras returned to the fire side he was surprised to find Selwyn donning his armour. 

“Do you expect trouble?” Floras asked him nervously. 

“Yes,” Selwyn agreed easily. 

“Perhaps we should move on then,” Floras said, eyeing the forest as though expecting bandits to emerge from the trees. 

Selwyn gave him a look of such supreme condescension that he found himself blushing like a young girl. 

“It would be best if we chose the ground,” Selwyn protested out loud, “one should seek any advantage that is possible when one is outnumbered.”

Floras looked at the man and was surprised to find he was intimidated. 

The armour was of a peculiar design. The steel pattered in the same manner as the Valyrian’s queer too-long sword. Selwyn unsheathed the long blade and carefully and familiarly moved through several peculiar looking stances. 

Floras had never been an indifferent student of warfare. Yet like all noble boys he had been taught the sword. 

“I’ve never seen sword forms like that,” Floras remarked. 

Selwyn resolutely ignored him. He moved slowly from one form to another. Then he moved more quickly, than quicker still. His movements possessed a beauty which Floras moved Floras. As a young boy Floras had seen Jaime Lannister, Barristan Selmy and the terrifying Gregor Clegan in a melee. Floras realized, with surprise, that Selwyn seemed every bit as skilled as those men. 

Though Floras knew enough of war to know that swinging a sword was only part of battle. One had to be willing to kill, something Floras had always known he would not have the stomach for. 

Floras finally began to hear the sounds of another person. There was a rustling in the distance, followed by the breaking of twigs. It sounded as though someone was struggling up the embankment which led from the river.

“How did you know that someone was coming?” Floras asked Selwyn, surprised. 

Selwyn continued to ignore him. 

It was then that Floras noticed for the first time why the patterning on the blade and armour of Selwyn’s was so familiar to him, he had once seen it. Heartsbane was the ancestral great sword of House Tarly, Floras had seen the blade unsheathed briefly by Randyll Tarly, though never wielded.

“That blade is Valyrian steel,” Floras said out loud, “so is your armour….that’s not possible.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Selwyn told him easily. 

He stood facing the embankment and waited as the sound drew closer. 

When the would be assailant emerged into the clearing Floras felt relief, followed by confusion. 

“This is the person you put on armour for?” Floras said, gesturing to the dirty peasant boy who collapsed before the fire. 

“No,” Selwyn told him, striding to stand in front of the boy, “they’re on their way.” 

Three dogs burst into the clearing. They were enormous beasts, looking more like wolves than dogs. The dogs were frothing at the mouth, salivating at the thought of the kill. Their hides and legs were coated in sweat and river water from their chase of the boy. 

The dogs ran toward Selwyn and the boy. 

The Valyrian smiled slightly and moved three times. His blade slashed so quickly it was like an arc of silver. Floras thought the movements might have been beautiful if the outcome was not so horrific. 

Selwyn killed all three of the dogs, faster than Floras could even breathe. The Valyrian finished his careful dance before the dogs began falling into the pieces that he had cut them.

It was then that the knights arrived in the clearing. 

All seven men were dressed in full armour. Several carried shields featuring a familiar sigil, the two castles known as the Twins. 

“Frey men,” Floras informed Selwyn quietly. 

Selwyn nodded. 

“Tend to the boy,” he told Floras. 

Floras lifted the boy under the arms and dragged him over beside the fire. In addition to being dirty the boy was starving, his ribs were visible and his stomach was starting to distend from true starvation. He was malnourished, his gums bleeding and he was in desperate need of water. Floras woke the boy enough to get him to drink some water which the boy swallowed greedily. 

“You have made a mistake stranger,” one of the knights presently said to Selwyn. 

“Is that so?” Selwyn asked politely, “I don’t believe so.”

“Those dogs were the property of House Frey,” the knight told him pompously, “you will pay a hefty price for destroying them.” 

“It seems unlikely,” Selwyn disagreed, “I acted only to defend myself, my companion and the boy.” 

The Knight looked at Floras for the first time, though seeing his humble attire dismissed him as a likely servant. He thenglanced owlishly at the boy. Floras couldn’t help but be a little offended by that, was the man too big a fool to recognise a Florent? Floras pushed down that thought as pure foolishness, declaring his House now would be a death sentence for him as surely as Selwyn had ensured his own death by killing the dogs. 

“The boy is a prisoner,” the Knight informed Selwyn, “he too belongs to House Frey.” 

“How peculiar,” Selwyn said in a voice of polite puzzlement, “I was of the understanding that slavery was illegal in Westeros…” 

Several of the knights moved uneasily. 

“The boy has committed a crime,” the knight insisted stubbornly, “he will answer for his crime at the Twins.” 

“I don’t believe this is Frey land,” Selwyn corrected him, “you have no authority here.” 

“House Frey has authority throughout the Riverlands,” the knight informed him arrogantly.

“You mean to say that House Frey has claimed the lands of House Piper?” Selwyn said incredulously, “my goodness, I will be sure to let Lord Piper know.”

“This is foolishness,” one of the other knights said to his companion, he turned to speak to Selwyn, “Ser I can see you are a knight, surely you can see you cannot defeat seven armed men. 

The second knight walked his horse out to stand no more than a few feet before Selwyn. 

“Hand over the boy and agree to pay House Frey for the cost of the dogs there is no reason for your companion or yourself to be slain,” the knight told him reasonably. 

The first knight turned angrily on his companion, “I would have this fool’s head,” the knight fumed. 

The second knight simply ignored him, looking instead at Selwyn for his answer. 

“What crime has the boy committed?” Selwyn asked them politely. 

“That is not of your…” the first knight began.

“He stole from House Frey,” the second knight said swiftly. 

The first knight glared at him through his open helm.

“Stole what?” Selwyn enquired.

The first knight began to speak but once again his companion cut him off.

“Bread,” the second knight told him quickly.

“You have chased a boy across the Riverlands for bread?” Floras found himself saying. 

“He stole from Lord Walder’s table,” the second knight said reasonably, “such a crime cannot go unpunished.” 

“He’s lying,” the boy declared suddenly, glaring up at the knight through his dirty, matted hair. 

“Quiet boy,” the second knight said angrily, “do not speak to your betters in that manner.” 

“It would appear we have a difference of opinion,” Selwyn noted sadly, “I think we must leave this matter for the gods to decide.”

“…are you seriously suggesting that one of us face you in trial by combat?” the second knight said incredulously, “why would we consent to fight a hedge knight when we have you outnumbered seven to one?” 

“Because it would be the honourable thing to do,” Selwyn replied carefully, “I am but one man, as you rightly noted, and you are seven.

“Though if need be I will kill you all.” 

The seven knights began to laugh uproariously. One pounded his right fist against his left palm in his merriment. Even the second knight who had tried to reason with Selwyn smiled at the jape. 

“Ser, your courage commends you,” the second knight said to another, quieter round of laughs, “but it seems unlikely that you would succeed.” 

“Valar Morghulis,” Selwyn told them simply. 

He raised his sword so that it was above his head and stood facing the seven Frey knights...


End file.
